"God knows!" ejaculated the tall man; "but you can shoot at this." He drew an envelope from his pocket, and turned toward a small board box resting against the stump of a tree. Bill Martin started forward in alarm.
"Hol' on!" cried he, "I got some chickens in that thar coop!"
The tall man turned and wrung his hand in a mock access of gratitude. "Thank you! thank you!" he cried fervently. "To think how near I came to having the blood of those innocent chickens on my head! I shall never cease to feel grateful to you, sir!"
He marched over to the coop and pinned the envelope square in the middle of it.
"There," said he, stepping back with an air of satisfaction. "Now the chickens are perfectly safe!"
The proprietor grinned very doubtfully. Several men laughed, one after the other, as the joke penetrated.
"You go to hell, Steve," said the fat man, bubbling all over.
He raised the long six-shooter with an easy gesture.
"They're just as good as meat!" he asserted confidently as he squinted over the sights. A breathless pause ensued.
"Always cock your pistol before shooting," Frank finally admonished in a soft and didactic voice.